secrets at midnight
by waterlit
Summary: Everyone seeks solace sometimes. Haymitch/Effie.


Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.

Pairing: Haymitch/Effie

Summary: Everyone seeks solace sometimes.

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**secrets at midnight **

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one.

Effie doesn't think she can do this anymore. Yes, the job has its goddamned perks, and Effie likes some good luxury and travelling out of the Capitol, but she thinks maybe she has had enough of these idiots.

She presses a finger against each temple. _One, baby blue; two, periwinkle pink; three, caramel camel. _Maybe they'll disappear when she opens her eyes again. It will have all been a (bad) dream and she will lie in her white soft bed in her house in the suburbs and listen to the birds chirp and she will draw a deep, deep breath and tell herself that this is the end of the nightmares.

But when she opens her eyes again, everyone is still there. Haymitch, that old camel, is still mixing himself another drink (Christ, how many has he had already?) while Peeta and Katniss are still staring at their hands, heads down and minds still lingering in their desolate and dirt-coloured hometown.

Effie blinks hard because she wants to leave this goddamned compartment and head straight to her compartment and dive between the covers and sleep. Glorious sleep. She doesn't, though, because she's Effie and she has a strong sense of duty. She claps her hands instead.

"Come, come," Effie says, putting on a bright grin that doesn't quite reach her eyes. She isn't sure if that's the plastic in her face or if she really doesn't have it in her to smile today. "We can't mope around all day, my dears! Let's get to know each other better, shall we?"

"I know you enough," Haymitch says. "I'll just sit there and drink my... drink."

Effie purses her lips. "Fine. Be that way."

"I will," Haymitch says, sending her a mock toast.

:::

Effie can't sleep.

They are exactly one day away from the Capitol now. Effie glances out the windows and bestows a smile on the pastures that roll past. The thought of home, though, doesn't make her any sleepier, so she decides to head to the dining car so she can help herself to some wine.

And who does she discover there but her nemesis, Haymitch, sitting on the ground and drinking from a bottle of foul-looking liquid.

"What's you doing he – hic- her – hic – here?" Haymitch asks, hiccupping.

Effie nudges him with her toe. "Move, you drunkard."

She rummages through the cabinets. There is no sign of the red and white wines she has stashed away.

"You wanna drink?" Haymitch asks, shaking his bottle at her. "Drink!"

"No," Effie says.

"Drink," Haymitch says, and he shoves the bottle in her face.

Effie takes the bottle. She gulps down a large mouthful of the drink, and it feels like it's setting her insides on fire; it feels good – it feels good to feel pain and to feel _alive_. She will regret this in the morning, but for now, the two of them pass the bottle back and forth, each denying the ghosts of their pasts with every swig taken.

:::

When morning breaks, Effie awakes in a strange bed. Her lids are heavy and her head is throbbing. Really, she shouldn't be having that much alcohol at her age. As she forces her eyes to open, the feelings in her limbs return; they are intertwined with that of another person.

When Effie opens her eyes at last, she finds Haymitch next to her, and heaven have mercy, why are both of them naked as babies? Flushing right down to the roots of her hair, Effie disentangles herself from Haymitch and puts her clothes back on.

Neither of them speak drunken escapade about this ever after.

:::

two.

Effie is glued to the screen almost every waking moment of the day. Katniss and Peeta, Katniss and Peeta – oh, what children they are, how fragile and yet so strong. She feels sick to the core as she watches the tributes struggle to survive in the arena.

Effie prays that they will die as painlessly as possible. She doesn't want them to suffer –these two children deserve good deaths at the very least, and surely, that is not too much to hope for.

Haymitch comes over from the next room in the suite, where he has been all day, trying to source for medicines and helpful trinkets for the District 12 tributes. His skin is nearly grey.

"You look exhausted," Effie says, as Haymitch slumps down next to her.

"I am," he says. He stands up again. "That was thirsty work. I'll get a drink."

He gets them both drinks. "I thought you might need one," he says.

She takes the drink. It is whiskey today, and they sit in silence as they both stare at the screen and hope for the is nearly midnight before they stir.

"You should go to bed," Effie says. "You have a long day ahead."

"I can't sleep," Haymitch says.

"You can't sleep?"

Haymitch nods. For some reason, Effie feels a deep relief settle in her mind – so she isn't the only on suffering from insomnia. "I can't sleep either."

"I know."

"You know?"

"I've heard you in your room before... you were awake at odd hours almost every single day," Haymitch says.

"Why can't you sleep?" Effie asks.

"Isn't it obvious?" Haymitch asks. He grimaces when he sees Effie's confusion. "It's a legacy from your Capitol."

"A legacy? I don't understand."

"How many victors can actually sleep? I always wonder."

"But you're safe now. They won't reap you again."

"You think that's really the problem here? No, fuck, that's not the problem at all. Can you even imagine going to bed and lying there and thinking – thinking – thinking of the people you had to kill? The people killed because of you? I can see all their faces even now. But how would you understand?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Effie asks.

Haymitch stands up and walks towards the windows; he refuses to look at her. "How can any of you Capitol folk understand the terror caused by the reaping? How many of you understand what it's like to stand out there and know that you have to kill? That you might be killed? That people you love might be killed?"

"The compensation – the rewards –"

"Are bloody nothing! None of us out there, except the career tributes maybe, care about these rewards!"

Effie stands too. "I – I didn't know..."

"Now you do." Haymitch turns back to face the room. There are sweat beads rolling down his face though the room is cold. He opens a bottle of beer. "Now you do."

:::

The next night, they sit together and study the broadcast again.

At midnight, Effie glances over at Haymitch. "I keep thinking ..."

"You ever think? Good to know that."

Effie flushes. "I've been thinking. Since last night... about what you said. And about my own feelings and fears."

"And?" Haymitch asks. He doesn't look at her as he drinks his whiskey.

"I'm tired of this job. I really am."

"Quit, then."

"I can't," Effie says. She sits down again and waves her hands around like a cornered prisoner. "I don't know what to do with my life. This is the only thing I know."

"Isn't that sad," Haymitch says.

'I keep thinking about all the dead bodies I've ever carted back to your District."

Haymitch frowns. "You've certainly brought many back."

"Many of them died. What was I to do?"

"Rebel," Haymitch says, and Effie immediately presses a finger to his lips.

"You shouldn't be saying this," she says. Her skin is too pale now, as if all her blood has drained away while talking.

"Why are you so pale?" Haymitch asks. His fingers brush her chin.

"This could cost our lives –"

"No, it won't," he says, and moves in for the kiss.

Once again, they find refuge in warm bodies and deep kisses.

:::

three.

Effie really wants to quit. But she also really wants to create a better life for herself.

"Move to the districts," Haymitch once suggested, but Effie shook her head. Capitol born-and-bred as she is, there is little hope of her surviving well in the rural provinces.

So once again she travels to District 12 and steps onto the platform to help choose the people who will be the next tributes to the Panem's cause.

She really doesn't wish to read the names out. When she does, she closes her eyes and thinks of bodies galore, of blood washing the rivers red, of tears unnumbered and grief immeasurable.

:::

"I have something for you," Effie says to Haymitch and Peeta.

Haymitch raises an eyebrow.

"Katniss has her mockingjay pin, and I have my golden hair," Effie says. She tries to smile. "And so – for you two – I have ordered two mockingjay pins to be made."

Peeta smiles in return. "Thank you, Effie. You shouldn't have!"

Haymitch smiles, though his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. He doesn't say anything.

:::

That night, Haymitch finds her in the dining car, again gulping down mouthfuls of vodka.

He leans down, knocks the bottle out of her trembling hands.

"What are you doing?" Effie asks.

"Stop drinking," he says.

"Join me," she says.

"Not tonight. Tonight – I will stay sober."

"Pity."

"It's sad for them, no?"

"What did you just say?" Effie asks. The world spins around her, and Haymitch's voice seems like a distant comet passing by.

"You're sad for them. Katniss and Peeta."

"Aren't you?"

"What do you think? Are you an idiot? Of course I don't want them to die. I don't want any more deaths."

"The Capitol can't be stopped," Effie says. "You know that and I know that."

"Propaganda," Haymitch says, and he waves a hand in dismissal.

"No," Effie whispers. "Not at all."

"Yes," Haymitch says. "You'll see."

"What are you doing?" Effie asks. She clutches at Haymitch's shirt. "Don't do something dangerous!"

"Caught on pretty quick today, haven't you? Is alcohol giving you some brains?"

Effie glares at him.

"Sorry," Haymitch says.

"Don't get yourself killed."

"I won't," Haymitch says. He leans in to kiss her.

This time around, there is something more than the desire to emulate the worthy ostrich with its head in the sand. This time around, Effie remembers the taste of Haymitch's lips and the beat of his heart when she swept her hands across his broad chest. This time around, Effie wants to kiss Haymitch and bring him to bed and lie together, and even as they distance themselves from the ghosts of the past, reforge a new life together.

But all these must wait. For now, the 75th Hunger Games must first be played, this Quarter Quell that will end all Games.

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A/N: After watching Catching Fire, I thought about writing a piece set in the Hunger Games fandom even though I've read maybe all of five Hunger Games fanfic pieces. Please do forgive any inconsistencies since I've forgotten nearly everything from the books!

Hope you enjoyed reading this; all comments/criticism/suggestions would be welcome!


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